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<title>A Rosier Doesn't Blink by Vandrerska</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465872">A Rosier Doesn't Blink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vandrerska/pseuds/Vandrerska'>Vandrerska</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, F/F, Gustave Courbet 'L'origine du monde' is mentioned., Jamais, M/M, Or maybe erotic paintings., Or pornographic paintings., Pin-up paintings, Somebody else will get a picture too… (At the end.), To be precise., Vinda doesn't blink., Whatever you want to call it., You get the picture., paintings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:26:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vandrerska/pseuds/Vandrerska</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vinda might have overlooked it, but still - she's pretty sure that 'Painting Pin-up Portraits of the Leader of the Great Revolution' wasn't mentioned in the job description when she first applied to become Gellert's lieutenant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald/Theseus Scamander, Albus Dumbledore/Theseus Scamander, Gellert Grindelwald/Theseus Scamander, Vinda Rosier/Other(s) (Implied)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Rosier Doesn't Blink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carapheonix/gifts">Carapheonix</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiara_Polairix/gifts">Chiara_Polairix</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It would be a crime against creative humanity to so much as even pretend that I can take all the credit for this crack fic.</p><p>It all started with Chiara_Polairix doing some admirable archive digging on pin-up magazines and her remark: "I can't help but imagine OT3 in some art similar to these covers."<br/>This of course led to animated speculation about the how and especially the who. Not the 'who'd be willing to pose', but 'who'd be willing to paint', at which point the relentlessly inventive Carapheonix suggested: 'Vinda - Vinda would totally paint Gellert and Thee in order to fluster Albus especially if she was there to witness the gifting'<br/>I basically just wrote it out.</p><p>(Unbetaed - all mistakes are undeniably mine.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If one is a member of the distinguished Rosier family – the addition ’pure-blood’ being entirely superfluous given that those who aren’t familiar with the house’s impeccable lineage hardly earn the right to exist – one doesn’t blink.<br/>
Not under any circumstance.<br/>
Never.</p><p>Not even when one’s master, the legendary dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald, terror of nations, admired by many and feared by all, asks you to make an erotic painting of himself and some English beau he’s found himself during a raid of the British Ministry of Magic.<br/>
(Not that the beau had offered much resistance. He’d stood there, stupified, without there ever having been a spell or charm fired at him, practically drooling at the sight of <em>Maître</em> Grindelwald striding through the corridors.)<br/>
You don’t. Not once. It just isn’t becoming.</p><p>Neither do you blink when said <em>Maître</em> and said beau start removing their clothes, while you put up the easel. You wonder – not for the first time – what greater good could warrant the use of a 2x3m canvas for this frankly juvenile undertaking, but decide that as long as the result isn’t to be displayed in your bedroom, you’ll make no point of it. And perhaps you can persuade the <em>Maître</em> into granting you a little excursion to one of the non-wizard galleries in return. Gustave Courbet’s ’L’origine du monde’ has quite caught your fancy and <em>would</em> look good on the wall of your bedroom.</p><p>They take their time – undressing themselves, but mostly each other. The beau - what was he called again? Theseus? – passionately snogging your <em>Maître</em> while he deftly undoes the buttons of that rich black waistcoat, then of the shirt beneath. You have to admit that <em>Monsieur</em> Grindelwald could have made a worse choice. The tall redhead is quite attractive, with his long limbs and broad hands and muscular shoulders. Quite attractive - for an Englishman that is. Soon the Englishman is divested of his shirt as well and M. Grindelwald starts licking that ivory-pale chest, letting his tongue loiter around the right nipple before taking it in his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
”<em>Maître</em>”, you remind him, trying to keep the impatience out of your voice, ”Shouldn’t we be starting to consider positions?”<br/>
”Later, Vinda”, he growls, nuzzling and biting Theseus’ stomach and his belly until he reaches his happy trail. He yanks down his trousers and boxers.<br/>
As always, you don’t blink.<br/>
”I thought this was to be a painting <em>érotique</em> and not <em>pornographique</em>” – you say, your voice perfectly steady.<br/>
”We’re going to use sheets”, he says, stroking Theseus’ cock, ”Who wears trousers beneath sheets? And I want to get the atmosphere exactly right.”<br/>
Your gaze drifts to the face of the beau. You don’t know what his opinions on atmosphere are, but his expression certainly gives the impression that <em>Monsieur</em> Grindelwald is getting something ’exactly right’.<br/>
<br/>
You suppress a sigh and conjure up luxurious silk sheets. Burgundy should work perfectly well against the alabaster skin of your <em>Maître</em> and the freckles of the beau.<br/>
You’re beginning to experience a certain degree of boredom. You could do some sketching, develop a feel for the specific forms you’re soon to commit to canvas. However, you don’t want to get a feel for certain forms as long as it isn’t strictly necessary. Better to wait until the <em>messieurs</em> have decided on the pose they’re going to take.</p><p>Luckily, both your models seem to have finished their round of ’getting into character’ and are now in the process of draping the sheets around each other in what should’ve been a concealing manner, but somehow gives the impression of being even more revealing than stark nudity. The <em>Maître</em> is kneeling on the dark walnut floor, his <em>derrière</em> resting on his feet, his legs slightly parted, the silk sheet barely covering… anything.<br/>
<br/>
Behind him, the beau is kneeling as well, though his feet don’t touch his – what do these island barbarians call it – his ’arse’? This time you don’t make the effort to suppress your sigh while you cast a cushioning charm in the space between his thighs and his calves.<br/>
”Thank you, Vinda,” the beau says.<br/>
”Your comfort is not my primary concern, <em>Monsieur</em> Scamander. You lack the stamina to stay in that position for a prolonged period of time and if you start shifting you’ll ruin the entire pose – and I can effortlessly think of a dozen ways to put my time to better use than by having to start over three times because you’re unable to keep still. And it’s <em>Mademoiselle</em> Rosier to you.”</p><p>The beau ignores your snide tone, takes holds of the silk sheet, arranges it around the <em>Maître’s derrière</em>, lets it run between his own legs, then over his chest and finishes by draping the remaining part of the sheet over his right shoulder. After that, his hand glides into the fabric covering the Maître’s groin, where it must be committing to unholy actions, as <em>Maître</em> Grindelwald’s breath hitches and something in the fabric twitches.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, he plants his teeth in the <em>Maître</em>’s skin, where neck meets shoulder, and looks up at you, lasciviously, from beneath his eyelashes.<br/>
You look back, totally unimpressed.<br/>
”<em>Monsieur</em> Scamander – I couldn’t care less if your jaw starts hurting so much that you won’t be able to orally pleasure the <em>Maître</em> for a week, but if that’s the position you insist on, you’d better be able to keep it up for the entire sitting.<br/>
”And <em>Maître</em> Grindelwald, even though I fully understand that my opinion on this subject isn’t asked for, I would like to ask you to try and keep your level of enjoyment fairly stable during the entire sitting. Otherwise, the folds in the fabric will shift considerably, and that will ruin my sketching.”</p><p>You can’t help but relish once again in the superiority of wizards over non-wizards when you let the oil paint magically dry in the blink of an eye. In the name of Jeanne d’Arc, you wouldn’t be able to stand having to go through three or more of these sittings, just because the infernal paint won’t dry.<br/>
”<em>Fini</em>”, you announce, after a couple of hours.<br/>
The <em>Maître</em> stands up, stretches himself, the silk slipping from his groin. He walks over towards the easel, shamelessly naked.<br/>
”Oh Theseus. He’s going to love this…”</p><p>Again, you don’t blink when you stand next to your work in the private quarters of Hogwarts’ Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who’s standing several feet away from you, flanked by the love of his life - his biggest and darkest secret - and what, in your opinion, can only be called ’their shared boytoy’.<br/>
He, on the other hand, does blink when you draw the protective sheet away from the canvas. More than once. And it becomes more than blinking. A violent red starts to bloom on his cheeks and makes it way rapidly towards his neck. You sigh inwardly. Those Englishmen – no sense of composure.<br/>
”A life-size portrayal of M. Grindelwald and M. Scamander”, you declare, in an attempt to restore decorum.<br/>
”I see,” he stammers.<br/>
<br/>
You see how the <em>Maître</em> leans forward and whispers something in Dumbledore’s ear, his lips brushing along the ear shell, while the beau’s hand surreptitiously makes its way to the <em>professeur</em>’s waistband.<br/>
”I’ll leave you <em>messieurs</em> to it”<br/>
The <em>professeur</em> clears his throat: ”Thank you for your… share in this, <em>Mademoiselle</em> Rosier. You’re clearly a very talented painter. The likeness is… striking.”<br/>
”My pleasure, <em>Professeur</em> Dumbledore, though I’d like to remind you, should you ever feel the need to commission a similar painting of yourself, that my rates are quite high and that I do not accept payment in kind, at least not from men. <em>Bonne journée à vous</em>.”<br/>
When you turn around, with an elegant flourish of your coat, you can’t help but think that the colour the <em>professeur</em>’s visage currently sports would go very nicely with the burgundy silk sheets.</p>
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